Little Voices
by Karneene
Summary: Insanity, Harry thinks, isn't so much something to be feared as it is something to be understood. All he has to do is figure out what possessed him to help a very desolate and drunk Draco Malfoy, and he'll be back to his senses in no time... Right?
1. Grave Conversation

Harry was beginning to hate flowers.

It was at the top of a long list of things that had come to remind him of death, of things he didn't want to think about and people that he'd lost. He'd already come to hate the smell of freshly crushed grass, the vaguely sweet smell of a dawn after it had rained, and most of all, the colour black. Death had permeated things that had previously meant to him nothing the morning of a quidditch practise, another thing that for a few days he had barely even been able to think about without it bringing to mind the memory of flashing red hair, and it was all he could do to hold back the bile that was building in his throat when he looked at a broomstick. But by this point this had all subsided into the strangest dull ache, as if everything in his life had been numbed by tragedy and the omnipresent memory of death.

He shifted Teddy in his arms, the sleeping boy's hair shifting into a blinding neon blue from something in his dreams. Andromeda was sobbing somewhere else, and Harry had found himself holding his godson with a strange feeling of protectiveness stirring in him. He stared down at him with a small smile and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and when he looked up Hermione was there, smiling softly with tears in her eyes.

"I didn't know you knew how to hold a baby," she said, and Harry shrugged and looked out at the vast expanse of gravestones with a vacant expression. Hermoine took note of his mood and remained silent.

"It's not fair," Harry muttered. "We did everything we could have, we beat Voldemort-…" He looked down at Teddy and swallowed. Orphaned by Voldemort, just like him. Life came full circle, sometimes. He just wished it wasn't for things like this.

A small, gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. "Harry, there was nothing any of us could have done. We don't even know who killed some of them-"

"That's my bloody point! She died in some back hall of Hogwarts while we got all the glory. Half of them did! And Ginny fought as hard as any of us…" Harry laughed bitterly. "But I guess there can never be real happy endings in the world, can there? We couldn't have our cake and eat it too, right?"

Hermoine said nothing as Ron came up on his right, and Harry closed his eyes at the sight of him. Red hair, he thought, would have to go on the list. Instead of looking at Ron, however, he opened his eyes to the wide expanse of black and thought that Tonks had deserved something brighter than this. That she would have wanted bright neon colours and perhaps a coffin that grew legs and walked itself into her grave. White orchids, he thought, didn't do Tonks any justice at all.

"You need to stop this, Harry," Hermione said softly, and Harry stiffened.

"I had to come to her funeral-"

"We're not talking about her funeral. I'm talking about you going out to a graveyard or three at least twice a week and wasting away, and don't you give me that look Harrry because Ginny was my sister too-"

"Exactly! She was your sister, Ron! Our friends; Tonks, Lupin, all of them! Even Snape-… what's wrong with-"

Teddy had opened his eyes when Harry had begun to shout too loudly, and Harry glanced to the throngs of weeping people to make sure he hadn't caused too much trouble. Instead of crying like any normal child might, however, Teddy simply stared up at him with crystalline violet eyes, shifting to emerald green right before Harry's own, as if he was copying what he saw. Harry couldn't help but smile slightly, and Teddy grinned right back, reaching a hand up to try and grasp a hold of his glasses. Harry pulled back before he could manage it, and the boy pouted.

"There are people who need you to go on living," Hermoine said softly, but when Harry looked up she wasn't looking at him, and he wasn't sure if she had spoken.

There was a period of silence as the boy-who-lived let his hair be tugged with absentmindedness, staring around at the smattering of graves before him. Ginny Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, Fred Weasley, Severus Snape, Colin Creevey, Dobby… the list dragged on even as he squeezed his eyes shut. Their faces danced behind his eyes, mocking him.

'_Why didn't you save us, Harry?'_

'_Why didn't you stop him sooner, Harry?'_

'_You should have killed him faster.'_

'_Then we would be alive.'_

'_Then we wouldn't be here.'_

'_Harry…'_

There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Every night, tossing and turning… He knew it was ridiculous and foolish, but he blamed himself for all of it. Every last soul. No matter hoa many times Hermione and Ron had told him otherwise, no matter how much he heard that the only one to blame was one Tom Marvolo Riddle, one evil wizard named Voldemort, he couldn't bring himself to accept it. Survivor's guilt, Hermione had said. It was a legitimate mental condition, and Harry couldn't help the strangled laugh that built in his throat as he looked down at Teddy. Yes, wasn't that just like him to go mad once everything should have been over.

Harry sighed and looked up, opening his eyes to the bright summer sun, the crowded expanse of the graveyard, and Hermione's worried face. He smiled tiredly. "I'm sorry for being such a prat," he said, and Hermione smiled back at him sadly. _You're right,_ he wanted to say. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

"It's not your fault, Harry," was all she said before she walked away to rejoin Ron, who was talking to Andromeda in hushed tones.

_It's not my fault…_

* * *

"Hullo, Kreacher!" Harry called as he removed his shoes. There was a pop as the large-eared elf appeared before him and bowed a little. "Bloody hell, it's hot out there."

"Master," he replied genially. "Dinner will be ready shortly."

"Thanks," Harry said with a sigh.

_It's not my fault…_

"Master…"

Harry looked down at the elf. "Yeah?"

"Are you… well?"

Harry smiled slightly. Kreacher had come so far from the evil little cretin that had previously plagued Twelve Grimmauld Place. They'd had a bit of fixing up to do after the deatheaters had rummaged through the house looking for clues to Harry's whereabouts, but the house was fit for living in once again. It was more of a home to him than Number Four Pivet Drive had ever been, that was sure. Kreacher himself had led an attack on Voldemort during the last battle; payback for his previous master and for trashing his home. Now he looked up at Harry with a hint of concern in his eyes. Harry had become rather fond of the little elf, despite himself. He sighed.

"It's just the usual, Kreacher."

"You miss the ones who died?"

"Yeah."

Kreacher nodded seriously. "We must live on for them, Master. I live on for Master Regulus."

Harry was forced to smile at this. _Look at me, getting advice on how to cope with death from a house elf. Hermione was right; I'm a bloody mess._ He nodded back just as seriously. "Of course, Kreacher."

"Will the Weasley boy and the Granger girl be joining master for dinner?"

"No, Kreacher," Harry replied with a sigh. "It's just us-"

Harry stopped as a quiet rattling sounded at the door behind them. "Or maybe not…"

"Who is it?"

"I dunno, Kreacher…" Harry muttered, walking over to the door and drawing his wand before unlocking the door. Most of the remaining deatheaters had been captured and killed, hut it never hurt to be safe. "I can't imagine who it would be-"

Harry jumped back in surprise as an owl flew in through the door as soon as he opened it. "Bloody hell!"

The owl ignored his outburst and proceeded to perch on the stair rail. Harry muttered a few choice colorful words and closed the door behind him, hexing the portraits quiet without much thought. "Couldn't you have used the damn chimney like everyone else?"

The owl hooted contemplatively in response, and Harry sighed. It was a barn owl, strangely enough, and he seemed to remember it from somewhere… shrugging, he pushed the thought away and took the offered envelope from the bird's beak. As his emerald eyes skimmed the page, he brushed his hand along the bird's feathers absentmindedly.

_Harry Potter:  
As I'm sure you are aware, Hogwarts has found itself lacking many of its staff members due to various untimely demises brought about by You-Know-Who-_

"You-know-who? He's dead for god-bloody-sakes!" Harry muttered to himself. He sighed resignedly and continued to read.

…_and the death eaters. Due to the previous history of the position and the general chaos caused by the aforementioned battle, we have been unable to find a suitable witch or wizard to fill the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Due to your aptitude for teaching the subject and your general mastery of particularly difficult spells in the area, it has been the general consensus of the staff here at Hogwarts to ask for your assistance in this matter until a suitable replacement can be found. Other students shall assist in teaching until Hogwarts… _

"They want kids to teach?" Harry blurted incredulously. "Have they lost their minds? I haven't even finished the last year of Defence!" Harry skimmed the rest of the letter agitatedly.

…_If you agree we ask that you send a letter back within the next week. As you have not taken the final year of classes for Defence, nor are you truly qualified for the position, there will be a teacher to assist you with any questions you have about the matter. However, it is highly recommended that you study next year's curriculum so that you are better equipped to handle such duties. You will be compensated for your time. Thank you for your consideration. _

Harry blinked down at the Hogwarts stamp. This required some thought, that much was certain. And a little bit of advice. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to bring to mind a happy memory.

"Expecto Patronum!" Two bursts of silver light streamed forth from the end of his wand and pooled into the form of a stag. "Tell Ron and Hermione that I've been asked to teach Defence at Hogwarts."

Harry watched as the stags took off.

"Should I set the table for three then, Master?"

Harry ran a hand through his mop of hair. "Probably. I have the feeling they're going to want to look at this."

**A/N: This is my first HP fic, so don't strangle me quite yet. XD Anyways, everything is the same aside from Ginny being dead. This starts a month after the last battle at Hogwarts, as Ron says. Sorry if it starts off slow, but... *shrug* nothing I can really do about it. And I know, he could have used an owl, but Patronuses are faster, so... XP Anyhow, comment please! This is my first HP fic and I'd like a few pointers. Flames and w/e are okay too. xD** **Anyways, thanks for reading. :)**


	2. An Unexpected Encounter

"Stop that, Shadow!" Harry scolded the black owl whistling incessantly in the corner of his room. A greater sooty owl, it had been another gift from Hagrid. He'd told Harry that Hedwig wouldn't want Harry to be owl-less for the rest of his life. Harry was tired to hearing the same comments over and over. "Leave it to Hagrid to give me a black owl after Hedwig… You belong down in Australia."

The bird whistled back at him in response, and he sighed dejectedly. "You'd think after defeating Voldemort you'd earn some respect."

Ron and Hermione had come over for dinner as predicted, and the "general consensus" was that Harry should take the job.

"Compensation? Like money?" Ron had asked.

"I guess…"

"That's bloody brilliant! After DA, why wouldn't you do it? What's the harm?"

"I have to agree with Ron, Harry. I can't see any reason to decline the offer."

"I'm a student! I'm retaking a grade because I cut the year!"

"Most of the students are, Harry. The last battle cut into NEWTs and interrupted most people's schooling. Even Malfoy's going back, since he was working for You-Know-Who and not-"

"For Merlin's bloody balls's sake Hermione, the man's dead! VOLDEMORT!"

Harry muttered to himself and sat down with parchment and a quill. He'd already sent the barn owl back to Hogwarts, thinking it would take a much longer time to make a decision.

_I have received your letter. I agree. _

_-Harry_

_Not very formal, but who cares?_ Harry thought to himself. Shadow looked at him with a cryptic expression as he tied the little piece of paper to her leg.

"Take this to Hogwarts. Preferably Professor McGonagall. Got it?" The bird whistled a confirmation, and he smiled and stroked her feathers lightly. "Go on then."

He watched as the bird ghosted out into the night with a final whistle. "It never ends, does it?"

_It's not my fault._

He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. He was going insane. He could feel it.

* * *

"Kreacher, I'm heading out to Diagon Alley," Harry called from the door as he donned his shoes. "I should be back in time for dinner, but if not just stick it in the fridge, alright?"

"Yes, Master," Kreacher's disjointed voice called back. Harry nodded and pulled out his wand, proceeding to apparate into Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

"Harry! Haven't seen you in a while!" George called from the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. Harry sighed as every customer in the store turned to gawk.

"Wonderful to see you too, George," Harry muttered. George grinned, and Harry had the sudden urge to strangle someone at the sight, not because of George's teasing, but because it was so half-hearted. Of course, George acted just as cheerful as anyone could in his situation, but Harry had known him for the better part of his life, and the knowledge that George hadn't really smiled the way he used to ever since Fred died made him angry and frustrated all in one shot.

"Sorry, Harry, didn't quite catch that. I'm-"

"Missing an ear, George, I know. How many times are you going to tell that one?" Harry said exasperatedly, choosing to ignore the uncomfortable gawking silence. He avoided meeting Geoge's eyes again.

"As many times as I have to until you laugh, Harry!"

Harry shook his head. "Keep waiting, George," he said, waving at the older Weasley. "I've got some shopping to do, so I'll see you."

"Defence Against the Dark Arts books, maybe?" George said teasingly. Harry paused in the doorway and turned around slowly.

"Ron opened his fat trap, I see," he muttered. George grinned.

"I am his brother, after all!"

"Don't you dare go spreading that around!" Harry warned. George grinned innocently. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Wouldn't dream of it, mate," George called loudly as Harry walked out of the store.

"Oh, come off it," he muttered under his breath.

Sometimes Harry wanted to take his invisibility cloak with him, just to keep from having to deal with the stares. Especially when he wasn't in a good mood. Frankly, he hadn't been in a good mood for a long time. Ever since the last battle at the feast, when they'd finally realized the final number of casualties and who had died…

Harry sighed and made his way through the whispering crowd to Obscurus Books, did his business quickly, and pushed out towards the Leaky Cauldron. He needed a drink.

Harry liked the Leaky Cauldron. It was dark in the pub, and if anyone noticed the identity of the dark stranger sitting in the corner it only made them more inclined to give him whatever he asked for. Not that Harry drank much, but it was days like these that made him want a pint of ale. Or two.

It didn't matter much what he wanted it seemed, though, because he'd barely finished ordering before a commotion burst out in an opposite corner of the room. Harry sighed and rose from his seat; it just wasn't his day. Sometimes he really regretted his Gryffindor morals. This was one of those times. He reached the other side of the room just as wands began to come out.

"Oi! What's all this now?"

"This one thinks he's too good to tip!" a waiter growled, pointing imperiously at a shivering heap under a black cloak. Harry looked at the pitiful form for a few moments before turning back to the waiter. He hadn't yet taken his eyes off of the unimpressive little cretin, and Harry relished the moment of anonymous anger.

"Is that all?" he asked with a snort.

"Not just tonight! He comes in here every other night and he always sits in my section, and he-"

There it was. The shock and awe as the waiter turned around to see who he was arguing with. Harry sighed inwardly. "How much does he owe you, then?"

The waiter stuttered. "It's… it's nothing, Mister Harry Potter, sir. No problem at all."

Harry raised an eyebrow, although he hadn't been expecting much else. "You sure?"

"Yes, of course, of course!"

Harry nodded and turned to the form in the corner, which had stopped trembling. "And you, um…" Harry paused, looking for the right title as he tried to find the person's face. "…why won't you tip?"

"Cause I don't have the money to spare," the voice said bitterly, slurring almost beyond recognition. There was a wild, desperate laugh amidst the black cloth, and Harry started as he recognized the voice. The Gryffindor pulled back in shock as the small huddled form in the corner straightened, swaying slightly from intoxication, into a familiar blond-haired, silver-eyed Slytherin a few inches taller than the black-haired young man. "Look at me, being saved by the Boy Who Lived. What a bloody-fucking-irony!"

Harry caught him as he swayed again. "Malfoy? What are you playing at, you stupid git? What do you mean you don't have any money?"

"It's all gone! All gone!" Malfoy called deliriously, and proceeded to faint on Harry's shoulder. It was at this point that he realized the young man was in desperate need of a bath.

"Blimey," he muttered as the various inhabitants of the Leaky Cauldron continued to stare at him. He tossed a Galleon on the table. "Sorry for the inconvenience."

"Not at all!" the waiter called agitatedly. "You know him?"

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Unfortunately, I do." He pulled out his wand and prepared to apparate. "Barely, but I do."

Harry blinked as he found himself in the warm confines of Twelve Grimmauld Place once more. "Kreacher? I'm afraid we have another unexpected guest."

**A/N: Aha… what does Malfoy mean he has no money? *dramatic piano chords* Okay, I'm done. ^.^; yeah, so, this is slow and not as good as my usual stuff, but it gets better I promise… xD Review please? *Puppy dog eyes***


	3. Harry's New Houseguest

Draco awoke to the gentle crackle of a warm fire and the slightly off-tune humming of an unknown young man. He squeezed his long-lashed silver eyes shut, trying to remember. He'd been at the Leaky Cauldron again…

"Fuck," he mumbled as he realized who he must be with. He cracked open one eye warily as the humming stopped.

"You want an aspirin?" Potter asked, standing over him with a faintly worried and partially disgusted expression. "Sorry you're on the couch, but I couldn't carry you upstairs."

Draco groaned loudly and rubbed his eyes. "What's an aspirin?"

Potter paused with a faint grimace. "Um… it's a muggle pill that makes pain go away."

Draco paused and let that sink in, then shrugged. He'd sunk to a definite low. "Why not?" He snorted. "And for the Wizarding World's Savior, you're a bloody idiot. Pills? Carrying? You have a wand for Merlin's sake!"

Potter blinked in shock, blushing sheepishly, and Draco looked at him incredulously. Harry Potter blushed? "Yeah, well, I'm the bloody idiot who saved you last night, so shut it."

Draco smirked. "Right." He paused and looked around. "Um, hey… do you have a shower?"

The Boy Who Lived nodded, looking relieved, and Draco realized he must smell awful. "On every floor but this one, actually." He smiled a little. "It's kind of ridiculous."

"Right… you wouldn't mind if I…?"

"No, go right ahead. Upstairs and to the left. There should be aspirin in the cabinet."

"…right," he muttered with a sigh. Potter looked at him with an indiscernible expression on his face, and all of a sudden Draco felt an inexplicable surge of gratitude. "Thank you, Potter."

Potter blinked at him for a few moments before he seemed to confirm that he was telling the truth. He then proceeded to smile wryly. "It's what any Gryffindor would have done."

Draco laughed bitterly and staggered over to the stairs, his head pounding like a bludger was trapped inside. "Of course, Potter. Of course."

* * *

Harry yawned widely as he sifted through the morning paper. He hadn't felt this energized in weeks. Maybe it was finally having something to do besides sit around and mourn the deaths of his friends… he snickered to himself. Yes, that must be it.

"Something funny, Potter?"

Harry looked up quickly to see Draco clad in the clothes he'd left outside of the bathroom. He had to admit that the Slytherin Prince looked much better in the Blacks' old clothes than he did. Simple tan slacks, soft black silk button down-shirt… all the black and white, the platinum blond hair, Harry couldn't understand it. How could a person be so naturally colorless?

"Like what you see?" Malfoy drawled. Harry flushed as he realized he'd been staring.

"You're… thin," he said as he made the realization himself. It was true; Malfoy was painfully thin. The shirt was fitted on Harry, who was far smaller in height than Malfoy. It should have clung much closer to the body, but instead it was like it hung on a floating hanger. Malfoy simply smiled tiredly.

"Yes, living in train stations and the most awful muggle hotels imaginable will do that to you."

Harry motioned for the Slytherin boy to sit as Kreacher poured him a cup of coffee. "Why were you in a hotel?" He decided to take the train station part as an exaggeration, and nodded to the elf. "Thank you, Kreacher."

"Why are you thanking your house elf?" Malfoy sneered back. Harry favoured him with a look, and he sighed dejectedly. "I'm sorry… reflexes." He laughed another bitter laugh. "The ministry took it all away when they took my parents. I'd been barely scraping by with a few galleons I managed to salvage, but… well, you know how it is."

Harry paused, choosing to ignore the rather rude implications about his financial status from Malfoy's last statement. "You have nothing? Nothing at all."

"Just the clothes I had with me. Frankly, the last of my money was in that last pint. I was looking forward to another night in a train station. I stop into the hotels when I can to bathe."

Harry looked at him with wide eyes, horrified. Draco smiled mirthlessly. "The higher the pedestal, or something like that, right? How does that muggle saying go?"

"The higher the pedestal the harder the fall," Harry muttered robotically. Draco smiled genially. _He's really changed, _Harry thought to himself, with shock. _I'd never seen a real smile on his face, and certainly not directed at me… _Harry shook himself a little, but Malfoy mistook it for a shudder.

"Yes, I have fallen, Potter. No clothes, no food, no money."

"That's…" Harry trailed off, failing to find the right word to end the statement. Pitiful? Awful? Harsh? None of them were particularly tactful. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Draco smiled another smile, but it was sad this time. "You shouldn't be. I'm the one who should be sorry. It's not your fault. Hell, I was a bloody death eater. I tried to kill you multiple times. Why are you apologizing?"

"Because it's right?" Harry replied quietly. A small period of silence ensued.

"Huh. I suppose that's a proper reason for you, isn't it?" Malfoy smirked and reached for his fork. "Well, I appreciate all of this."

"Not a problem," Harry said absentmindedly. He would have to think about this. Breakfast was one thing, but letting Malfoy stay with him? It was his moral obligation, but…

_It's not your fault, but it's the right thing to do. _Harry sighed. _There goes the rest of summer vacation. _

* * *

Draco blinked incomprehensively at Potter. "What?"

"Do. You. Want. To. Stay. With. Me?" Potter repeated for the third time.

Draco would have coughed on his coffee if it wasn't an undignified thing to do. "Are you serious?"

Potter snorted. "No, I'm not. Get out." Draco looked at him warily. "Of course I'm serious you stupid git! You think I'm going to make you go back out there and live in the train station? For Merlin's sake, what type of Gryffindor do you think I am? Bloody hell, what type of _person_ do you think I am?"

Draco blinked at him in shock and awe. Was this what it was to be a true hero? He couldn't imagine this offering this service to someone he'd never liked. "I tried to kill you."

"Voldemort made you do that," Potter said simply. Draco flinched at the name, and the boy's face heated. "What is it with all of you! He's dead! D-E-A-D! Voldemort! Voldemort!"

Draco stared at him in shock at the sudden outburst and Harry took a deep breath, running a hand through his laudably messy mop of hair and exhaling hard. "Sorry."

Draco smirked weakly. "Hit a nerve there, Potter?"

"Something like that," the Wizarding World's Savior said with a bit of a weak smile himself. The boys looked at each other for a few moments in companionable silence.

"Yes. I'd like that," Draco said finally. Potter let loose a blinding smile and rose from the table.

"Well come on, then. You can have the room next to mine." He paused and looked at Draco's unreadable expression. "Unless, of course, you want one on another floor or sommat. I mean, this house is rather large-"

"You always this skittish, Potter?" Draco drawled. The raven-haired boy blushed again, and Draco looked at him with a smirk. "Pink doesn't look bad on you, Potter."

The boy cleared his throat. "Can we do away with that nonsense?"

"What?" Draco asked confusedly.

"The poking and the bickering. If you're going to be living here I don't see why we should be so cold and arguing all the time."

Draco smirked. "If you say so, _dear_."

The boy blinked, expression perturbed as though he was regretting his own request, before he shook his head and headed up the stairs. Draco followed a little bemusedly, disconcerted by the boy's lack of a response. If you'd asked him a year ago where he would be at that moment, he very well would have answered anywhere Harry Potter wasn't. He smirked to himself.

_Ah, the irony. _

**A/N: Here's chapter 3! ^_^; I know it goes a little fast, so sorry for that. Reviews are appreciated! This is my first HP fic, so I'd like to know how I'm doing _;. Thanks for reading?**


	4. Fire and Ice

Draco woke up feeling warm and safe and _wrong_, somehow, and it was a few moments of looking about the dark room he lay in before he remembered where he was with a sharp jolt.

"Potter," he murmured to himself softly, and the thick drapery around the bed caught the word and held it there, entrapping it in the gold tassels where it winked at him mockingly. "Harry Potter."

Draco closed his eyes to the irony of the whole thing, wishing for a single, irritatingly childlike moment that he was once again young and that everything was clear. He wished that he and Harry Potter stood safely behind a frosted glass wall of rivalry and encroaching war, enough to see the general shape of the other's character without having to think about their assets or flaws. A target to shoot at, a silhouette of a figure, and nothing more.

But Potter had shifted something in him. He had clutched to his waist as he fled a burning room, been spared by his wand, had his mother's life saved from a long, exhausting testimony from the boy. He owed him everything now; his life, his family, and now his state of affairs.

Draco hated owing anyone anything. All Slytherins did. People were unpredictable, and they never knew what they wanted. They took things on impulse, asked for favours on whims, Potter, perhaps most of all. This was the boy who had rushed out into the ether with half a plan and taken on one of the most powerful dark wizards in the world, set out after a man who had supposedly killed his parents through a half-mad vision and gotten people killed. Potter was a loose cannon.

People who got close to Potter died.

_The war's over_, a part of him whispered, and he shut it out forcefully, but to little success. There were things that he had wanted to say to him even before he had seen him in the bar, and these were things that he would have considered whether or not he was staying here, in this house, eating Potter's food and wearing his clothes. When he was drunk they tended to be things that were less than savoury, confessions of things that he never wanted to remember in the morning, let alone say aloud to another sentient being. When he wasn't he wanted to thank him, somehow, but even upon sitting in front of him he hadn't been able to get the words out the way he wanted to.

"Oi, Malfoy! It's noon! Get your arse out of bed already!" There was a sudden pounding on the door, and the blonde squeezed his eyes shut.

"So what if it's noon?" he called irritably, and there was a heavy sigh on the other side. He smirked, almost able to envision the expression on the boy's face.

"_So_, _I'm_ about to eat _lunch_, you bloody prat. You already missed breakfast, although I think there're some eggs left in the fridge." The boy's tone shifted as he pondered their supply of cooked eggs, and Draco could almost see his facial expression change behind his eyelids. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and sat up. "Well, point is you need to eat something. If you die in my house people'll get the wrong idea."

"I'm not going to die from sleeping through breakfast," Draco replied dryly, and the Boy Who Lived snorted.

"Eh? Could've fooled me, skinny git. You look half-starved. Get your arse out of bed!"

Draco felt something in his chest shift as he laughed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Why, _Potter_," he said, not quite feigning his surprise, "I didn't know you cared."

* * *

"What's a fridge?"

Harry looked up from his empty plate with a startled expression. He'd almost forgotten that Malfoy was staying with him for a moment, and he'd been mulling over a section of the defence textbook for the next year and thinking about how in god's name he was supposed to try and teach Seamus how to do something that complicated…

"Er," he said intelligently, "What?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, vaguely amused.

"A fridge. Is it that white contraption in the kitchen?"

Harry nodded absently and turned back to his textbook. "Mm," he murmured. "That plate there's yours, but if you're still hungry afterwards you can finish the eggs too."

There was silence in the room for a moment, and Harry turned back with an irritated expression to look at the previous page before jotting something down on the piece of paper next to him. When he glanced up again, however, the blonde was still staring down at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

The young man cleared his throat and looked away, suddenly flushing a barely discernable shade of pink. "Nothing."

Harry blinked. " Draco Malfoy, are you _blushing_?" he asked incredulously. Malfoy choked on his food.

"No!"

Harry smiled softly. "Of course not," he said, turning back to his work. "You're welcome."

"I don't believe I expressed anything akin to gratitude," Draco – _Draco_? – Malfoy muttered petulantly, and Harry grinned despite his disturbing slip of thoughts without even bothering to look up. He'd heard that tone often in the years they'd known each other, and he could envision the expression on the boy's face without bothering.

"Of course not," he said again, and Malfoy let out a small, irritated noise. They ate in silence for a moment before there was a shift in the chair to his right, and Harry looked up instinctively, hand reaching for his wand before he stopped halfway.

He wasn't used to living with people.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, either not noticing or pretending very well. Then again, he'd always been a brilliant liar. Harry glanced down at the textbook.

"Oh, this-"

"I didn't take you to be one of the types to study over the summer. Don't you know all of that rubbish, anyway? You fought in the war," the boy continued, talking right over him. Harry wondered if he'd even noticed. "Or is the-… _Granger _rubbing off on you."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "_Hermione _has nothing to do with it," he said tightly, and there was a long, tense silence, both knowing precisely what the blonde had been about to say. "And anyway-"

"I corrected myself, didn't I?" Malfoy asked, sounding hurt, and Harry gave up on trying to answer his original question and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, but that shouldn't be your first instinct," he said patiently, and Malfoy pouted again. Harry bit back a snicker.

"Easier said than done," he replied acerbically. Harry blinked at him, ready to retort, before realising that Draco had bit back the name on his account and his account alone, and that he was trying, which was much more than he'd ever seen the blonde do before.

"Yes," he said finally, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. "So we'll just have to train you out of it, won't we?"

Malfoy favoured Harry with a very dry look. "What am I, a dog? Are you going to teach me that Patronus trick too?"

"No, Draco, you're a ferret," Harry replied with a grin, neither noticing his change in address until it was too late. There was an awkward pause.

"Draco?"

Harry flushed. "Well, if you're going to be living here the least we can do is drop the last name nonsense, can't we?"

The blonde looked at him dubiously before shrugging. "Whatever you say, _Harry_."

There was a pause as Harry blinked and wondered how wise that request was before he shook his head. "…And I can, if you'd like."

Mal-_Draco_ had risen and begun to head for the kitchen, presumably to fetch the eggs.

"Can what?" he asked, and Harry shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"Teach you," he said, and there was a long, pregnant pause. Harry knew he had just extended an olive branch, and he wasn't sure now how to take it back before the blonde decided to light it on fire and torch the hand holding it.

And then, Draco blinked, a small smile developing on his face as he flushed slightly once more. "Alright," he said softly. And then he was gone, heading to the kitchen accompanied by the loud, protesting creaks of the floorboards.

Harry shook his head and turned back to his work.

"OH! It's cold!"

Harry burst out laughing. For all that they couldn't stand each other, there were certain times that being around him reminded him exactly of Ron.

**A/N: XD I love this chapter… Anyways, review pls! This is my first real HP fic and I'd like to know how I'm doing! **


	5. Morning Madness

There was a certain point, Draco knew, when one should begin to question their own sanity. That point, he'd decided, was now.

He'd woken from a delicious dream that he couldn't manage to recall to the sound of Pot- _Harry_ practically banging his door down, shouting that he'd better get his arse up for breakfast or else. Instead of arguing, Draco had simply _thanked _him, much to the surprise and chagrin of both parties. It was the lack of sleep, the blonde had decided. That must be it.

He paused as he leaned over the bathroom sink, a stream of toothpaste-tainted water swirling down the drain. There were charms to do these things of course, but while he had possession of his mother's wand, both he and Harry knew that the records said it had been lost in the battle, and he hadn't quite worked up to that amount of trust with the Gryffindor. He hadn't quite worked up the nerve to ask Harry about his own wand either, and so instead he'd taken to brushing his teeth the way Harry did. The way _muggles_ did.

Yes. Draco was definitely going mad.

He stared at the mirror in the bathroom, the figure reflected back at him something foreign and strange. Harry had given him a spare razor, although Draco's need to hide his possession of a wand was hardly higher than his belief that he would be able to shave with a muggle razor and not slice his throat open. So the face that stared back at him was clean shaven, but gaunt, hair falling around his face in an elegant disarray, although nothing comparable to Harry's. No longer was it the perfectly styled, slicked back creation of his days at school. Instead, using Harry's shampoo, it had become a softly shimmering cascade of unsurprisingly straight locks, and he found himself wondering, as he attempted to brush it back, if Harry's hair was that soft too.

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. When his eyelids opened again they paused on his hands, gripping the sides of the sink so tight his knuckles had turned white, and he let go as though he'd been burned at stared at his reflection again. Wide silver eyes dark and bruised, set above sharp cheekbones, full lips and the corrugated lines of his ribcage. He looked hunted, a caged animal, unfed and feral. His ability to compartmentalise had fallen away with each healthy ounce of fat, each layer of muscle, until there was nothing left but bitterness and anger and self pity and-… And other things, that he didn't want to think about.

Two years ago, Draco Malfoy had been calm, composed, and proud.

Two years ago, Draco Malfoy had been spoiled and well-fed.

Two years ago, Draco Malfoy would have given everything to see Harry Potter fall.

_Draco Malfoy,_ the blonde thought as he looked at himself, _is gone_.

He shook his head at himself and reached for the towel beside the sink, wiping the last drying droplets of water from his face before pulling on the shirt he'd worn yesterday. No use putting on a clean one when he hadn't even showered. And it was just Harry.

Draco entered the dining room to the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived yawning widely, hand not even covering the full extent of his jaw. The blonde wondered idly whether it was possible to crack one's jaw with a yawn.

_Then again, _he thought wryly, _if anyone could make yawns dangerous it would be Potter._ His brow furrowed as he yawned a little himself and reached to pull out a chair. _Harry._

He ignored the twitch of the darker boy's hand as it moved towards where he kept his wand, running a hand through his hair with a discernable sense of irritation at its loose strands and staring down at his plate with wide eyes.

"Bacon."

There was a snort to his left where Harry sat at the head of the table. "Yes, Draco. That's bacon."

The blonde looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth watering. "Is this mine?"

Harry was staring at him with a markedly fond expression, emerald eyes glittering with amusement, and Draco realised that the young man actually delighted in making other people happy.

How odd.

"No, I just put that there in case 'Mione or Ron drop by. Or maybe I was planning to eat a whole 'nother plate of food. I can't remember," he said, grinning widely as he swallowed a forkful of eggs. Draco watched him chew for a moment before looking away quickly.

"Oh, shut up," he muttered, not even bothering to use the fork as he took a piece of bacon and practically shoved it into his mouth unceremoniously, making Harry laugh loudly.

"No famous Malfoy table manners?" he teased, and Draco ignored him as he took a piece of well-buttered toast and ate that too. When he bothered to glance up at Harry again he was smiling softly, a glitter in his eyes that reminded him uncannily of Dumbledore for a moment. When he blinked the odd resemblance was gone, replaced instead by amusement, and Draco couldn't help but let the corner of his lip twitch back in response.

"Yes, make fun of the starved, homeless wizard," he drawled. "What glorious tact your betters have taught you, Harry."

"Being homeless doesn't give you amnesia," the boy retorted as he flipped through some book or other. "I'm pretty sure you remember how to use a fork." He paused and glanced up at Draco's swiftly emptying plate. "Not that I really care, mind… D'you want some more? I reckon Kreacher could-"

Draco didn't know what the boy saw in his face, but he burst into further peals of laughter, and he scowled impressively at the Gryffindor. "What?"

"I'll take that as a yes," the boy replied cheekily, and called out as much to the general direction of the kitchen. Draco simply scowled.

"You know, P-Harry, if I didn't know what a goody-two-shoed git you were I'd suspect you took me in just for your own amusement," he said, albeit good naturedly, and Harry grinned.

"Me? Goody-two-shoed?" he said, expression more mischievous than Draco warranted he had a right to, and the blonde swallowed and glanced at the door to the kitchen. The smell of cooking bacon had begun to waft in with a distinctly familiar sizzling noise, and his mouth was watering again. "You only caught half of the things I got myself into, Mal-Draco. Goody-two-shoed my arse."

Draco simply smirked. "Yes, and how many of those little missions were to help save some poor fool, or fight some terrible evil, or gather information necessary to defeating You-Know-"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry snarled, and Draco paused, raising an eyebrow. There was a long pause as the darker boy blushed. "Right, sorry. And yes, point taken. But still, isn't the end justifies the means a rather Slytherin creed to have?"

"Well yes," the blonde allowed, watching him carefully, "but I suspect that's why the Sorting Hat took so long to put you in a House."

Harry blinked, and Draco watched as the boy looked startled for a moment. "Where'd you hear that from?" he asked, voice wary, and Draco bit back a derisive snort.

"I was there when you were sorted," he reminded him, his eyes lighting up as Kreacher entered with a second plate of more food, eyeing Draco with an unreadable expression. He could have kissed the Golden Boy.

He tucked in as Harry laughed again, and Draco found himself thinking that maybe… he could begin to enjoy the sound.

* * *

"Pass the milk, Draco?" A gentle clink sounded from the direction of the dining room. "Thanks."

"Jam?" a familiar voice asked in its typical overtly-polite tone. There was another clink as Harry presumably passed the jar. It was followed by a laugh. "Merlin, I haven't eaten this well in weeks. I almost can't remember what it was like to eat three course meals on a regular basis."

"You've been here for two weeks," was the dry reply. "Are you implying we haven't been feeding you properly?"

"You knew what I meant, Harry," the voice of Draco Malfoy said with a scoff. Harry's snicker sounded soon afterwards.

Hermione looked at Ron with wide eyes. They'd been worried about Harry's health. They couldn't understand how he could go from lurking around the graves of the people they'd lost at least once a week to not even contacting them. Ron had almost convinced himself that Harry had offed himself and they'd find him sprawled on one of the living room's floors. They certainly did not expect to find him eating breakfast with Malfoy, of all people.

Hermione poked her head through the doorway to see the two boys sitting companionably at the dinner table, Malfoy finishing his last piece of toast with a smirk in Harry's direction.

"Um… Harry?"

"Bloody hell! Can't you use the door?" Harry demanded, scowling and clutching at his chest. Malfoy tried to suppress a fit of snickering and failed as Ron guffawed loudly.

"Glad we scared you, you bloody prat. What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Harry… we went from… seeing you-…" Hermione trailed off.

"Oh… well I took your advice," Harry said calmly. Hermione looked at him incredulously.

"Harry, I don't believe I told you to have breakfast with Malfoy," Hermione said, struggling to maintain her typical calm demeanor. She had the feeling the voice of reason would be necessary once Ron worked himself into the fit he was bound to have in a few moments.

"Oh, right," Harry said, turning to the blond boy. Malfoy had the grace to look sheepish.

"Hello, Granger. Weasley."

"Don't hello me, you foul-bloody-fucking-git!" Ron hissed. Hermione put a hand on his arm.

"Now, why don't we sit down and talk about this rationally-"

"Rationally? That's Draco Malfoy right there, Hermione! He was a bloody death eater!"

"Ron, calm down," Harry interjected.

"Don't tell me to calm down! We came here thinking you'd offed yourself or something! You'd been moping around for over a month, lurking around their gravestones like a bloody ghost! Now you're sitting and having breakfast with a bloody-fucking death eater and you want me to be calm?"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Um… I think this would be a good time for a shower."

Harry nodded at him and Malfoy retreated up the stairs. Ron glared after him distastefully and Hermione sighed.

"Harry… I think an explanation is in order."

**A/N: Well, it had to happen eventually...... ^_^; Review pls!!!**


	6. Small Squabbles

"Ron-"

"Harry, I want you to stop talking for a minute and try to imagine just how much I. Do. Not. Care."

"Now Ron, that's not fair-"

"Hermione, how are you taking his side?" Ron cried angrily. "Malfoy was a death eater! Malfoy tried to kill us for god's bloody sakes!"

"Ron," Hermione said quietly. Ron sighed and quieted slightly, following her gaze. "Look at Harry, Ron. When was the last time he looked this healthy?"

"Hey!"

"Harry, do be quiet," Hermione said dismissively, her eyes still on Ron. "We wanted him to get better, didn't we? Harry has never been happy without some sort of mission. For a long time it was defeating Voldemort, with little things in between. He needs a cause, Ron."

"Well, yeah, but Draco Malfoy, 'Mione? That bloody prat, of all people? He's rubbish!"

"He had nowhere else to go, Ron," Harry said with a heaving sigh, ignoring Hermione's psychoanalysis. "What would you have done? Left him to live on the streets?"

"Yes!"

"Then you're no better than he was!"

"I can leave," a quiet voice came from the stairs. The trio jumped in unison as an emaciated and shirtless Draco Malfoy stared down from the stairway with a forlorn look on his face. His ribs stood out in his chest, and in the dim lighting it was hard not to mistake him for a skeleton.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered in spite of himself. "What happened to you?"

Malfoy smiled hollowly. "My home and all my possessions were repossessed by the Ministry."

"So…?" Ron asked, but not unkindly. More confusedly. "There was no one? At all?"

The Slytherin prince laughed bitterly in response. "Oh, there were plenty. All in Azkaban." He smiled another empty smile. "I was lucky to get out of it myself. They let me go because I was young. They said my parents brainwashed me. My mother got off easy for her cooperation; only five years. My father's in for life."

"Oh…" Ron said. A mix of disgust and pity was splashed across his face. He leaned over to whisper in Hermione's ear. "Poor git. Harry was right to take him in. He couldn't take little Teddy in the bloody state he's in."

There was an awkward pause in the room before Harry cleared his throat.

"Um, Draco?"

"Yes, Harry?" the blond boy replied archly with a smirk. Harry sighed.

"Why are you shirtless?"

"Ah," Draco said, a pink tinge faintly coloring his pale cheeks. "The wardrobe you showed me doesn't seem to have anything else that's not moth-eaten."

"Kreacher?"

The elf appeared in the room with a pop. "Yes, Master?"

"Have you washed Mister Malfoy's clothes?"

"Yes, Master, but Kreacher hadn't finished folding-." Harry decided to cut the elf off before he worked himself into a state and began to bang his head against the wall.

"It doesn't matter. Could you give them to him?"

Kreacher nodded his head spastically. "Of course, sir." He made his way up the stairs. "This way, sir."

Malfoy followed stoically, but Harry cleared his throat again.

"Play nice, Draco." Ron and Hermione blinked, waiting for a trademark Malfoy sneer, but it never came. The boy simply sighed dejectedly and inclined his head ever so slightly. "Well go on, then. And you should have some more breakfast. There are leftovers in the fridge."

"You installed a fridge?" Hermione asked, sounding impressed. Harry shrugged.

"They're right useful, aren't they?"

The young woman paused, gave him a thoughtful look, then shrugged and nodded. "I suppose. I just wasn't expecting it."

"What's a fridge?" Ron asked. Harry smiled.

"And we're back to normalcy," he said with a satisfied smile. Hermione beamed back at him. She hadn't seen him smile in a long time.

* * *

Draco pulled a black jumper over his head, following it up with jeans. Instinctively, he checked himself in the mirror. He hadn't had a haircut in two months at this point, and without his trademark hair gel his blond locks had arranged themselves into a Harry-esque mop. He smiled bitterly.

"How the mighty have fallen," he muttered to himself. Living in Harry Potter's house, given to him by his blood-traitor god father. What a lark. If he was honest with himself he really was grateful. Anything was better than the dingy rotting rubbish of the London train stations.

Of course, that in itself was also an exaggeration. At least there had been a roof over his head.

He wondered idly what Harry had done while the three of them were hiding from the Dark Lord. Where had they been? He would have to ask him. He had no doubt Harry would tell him, arrogant prat. The last thing Draco had wanted was something else the Gryffindor boy could lord over his head. At this point it didn't matter though, because the only thing he saw over his head was a roof. The paint might have been cracked and the portraits might scream nonsensically, but it was a house all the same. He grinned despite himself. A house with food.

He tried to walk quietly down the stairs to eavesdrop on the Golden Trio, but the creaking old stairs wouldn't allow it. There was an uncomfortable silence once he reached the bottom.

"Erm, hullo, Draco…" Harry said awkwardly. There was a pause.

"You said there was some breakfast left over?"

"Yes!" Harry said, relief apparent in his voice. "In the fridge."

"That white muggle contraption?"

He watched amusedly as Harry's jaw tightened and his face flushed. Of course he already knew what the fridge was. "Yes, Draco."

"I'll leave you three to it, then," Draco said with a mocking bow. He tread off silently to the kitchen.

A bit of guilt had crept over him as he heard the Weasel use his recent taunt against Harry. Another bullet point tacked on to the long list of Reasons-Not-to-House-Draco-Malfoy. The Slytherin was sure the list was at least six feet long. As he set out a plate of sausages and toast, pulling out his mother's wand to heat it up so he wouldn't have to strain to hear over the microwave, he listened to the Weasel boy rant in the drawing room. Well, the red heads had never known when to shut up.

There was a sudden, loud crack as someone disapparated. Draco didn't need to check to figure out who. There was a murmur from the Mudblood Granger girl – what he assumed was an apology – before she too departed. The second resounding crack was followed by a trademark bitter Potter sigh. The black haired boy entered the dining room at the same moment Draco stepped in from the kitchen and fell into a chair with a sigh.

"I assume everything went well?" Harry shot him a dark look, and he laughed. "Or not."

"Remind me why I agreed to let you stay here?" the boy countered in exasperated tones.

Draco winked. "Because you're secretly in love with me and couldn't bear to see me to leave your sight again?"

He watched with satisfaction as the boy's face flushed with anger for the second time that day. He might have reached relatively amicable terms with the raven-haired Gryffindor, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy a red tinge to the boy's cheeks. Draco wondered idly whether Harry fancied men, then laughed inwardly at the idea. Surely the boy was too pure for idle sex in any case, and he certainly wouldn't agree to it as payment so Draco could get rid of the awful guilt that kept biting him in the arse. The idiot was probably one of those saps who looked for true love.

"…bloody rubbish," Harry was muttering as Draco pulled out of his thoughts and finished his last piece of toast. "…ungrateful prat…"

"Thank you for the lovely breakfast, Harry," Draco said, smiling sweetly. The boy glared at him across the table in response.

"Come off it," he muttered as he traipsed up the stairs, presumably to stare obsessively at Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks as Draco often caught him doing. He hoped his laugh followed him up the stairs.

**A/N: A litte short... .; Oh well. Review pls! ^.^;**


	7. A Change in the Wind

Harry rubbed his eyes blearily as he walked down to dinner. Frankly he'd known most of the curriculum already. Defence Against the Dark Arts had become something more than just a subject to him. He wasn't sure if it was due to Professor McGonagall's loud declarations of his future as an Auror, DA, his life facing Lord Voldemort, or a combination of the three. It didn't make a difference though, because looking at the Syllabus, Harry had noticed something awful towards the end of the year; a knowledge of Legillimency and Occulumency.

As all of Harry's friends knew at this point, Harry was awful on both counts. Well, perhaps not Legillimency, having never tried it himself. Occulumency, on the other hand…

The boy cringed at the memory; kneeling on the cold dungeon floor at Snape's feet , defeated. It wasn't a memory he cherished at all. And then Malfoy running in, that sneer on his face.

_"Remedial potions?" __What an arse…_Harry thought to himself with annoyance before walking into the drawing room to see none other than Draco Malfoy sprawled out on his couch. _Right… that._

Harry smiled bitterly as he looked at the blond boy. He'd been living with Draco for two weeks now, and by this point he had a hard time remembering what it was like to live alone. Or rather, alone with Kreacher. Draco and the elf didn't tend to get along very well, but Harry understood that the way he was raised would take a while to beat out of him. He'd taken to saying thank you when the elf brought them food though, which was a start. He could remember the times Hermione and Ron had complained about the blond Slytherin with him, the times they'd paid him back for his torture, almost as if it was yesterday. How ironic that now they were sharing a house.

Somehow, in his head, Harry had managed to make Draco Malfoy two separate entities; Malfoy, who occasionally peeked his head out when Harry gave him too good of an opening and who had haunted the majority of his days at Hogwarts, and Draco, a relatively tolerable houseguest who seemed genuinely pleased to be living somewhere that wasn't the train station. Harry wasn't sure which one was dangling off of his couch reading a book at the moment though.

"Wotcha got there?" Harry asked, deciding to find out. The Slytherin Prince looked up with a smile.

"You know, this Lewis Carroll fellow isn't half bad," he said, thoughtfully. "Although I can't say much for someone who dwells for too long on hookah-smoking caterpillars."

Harry blinked at him disbelievingly. "You're… reading… a muggle book?"

"Well it said classic on the front," Draco said nonchalantly. "I admit I was a little curious as to what muggle children read about."

Harry stared at him, wondering if he'd finally gone off the deep end. Draco smirked a little.

"Close your mouth, Harry, lest you catch flies."

Harry obliged with a snap. "Right…"

Draco sighed pitifully. "Well, there's not much else to do in the house."

"So go out," Harry said bluntly. Draco raised an eyebrow at him.

"Go out? I'm surprised _you_ can go out. How can you stand people staring at you like that? It drives me insane," Draco said, exasperatedly. "I didn't mind so much before. Frankly, I rather enjoyed being cosseted. But now? Look at where I am!"

Harry cleared his throat warningly, and Draco paused.

"Not to imply anything about your hospitality of course, I simply meant my company-"

"What's wrong with your company, Draco?" Harry demanded, face flushing. Draco blinked at him, intrigued. "What?"

"You have an awful temper," he pointed out mildly. Harry couldn't help but be reminded of Dumbledore when faced with someone's raging temper, and this only made the boy angrier. He settled for letting a frustrated noise escape between his teeth. "In any case, I simply meant to say that no one would expect me to be rooming with Harry Potter of all people."

"Yeah, well, beggars can't be choosers," Harry growled, but he looked slightly mollified. Draco smirked slightly.

"Yes, tactful choice of words, Chosen One," he said, voice only slightly mocking. Harry looked confused for a moment before flushing with embarrassment. He'd forgotten that Draco had been forced to panhandle himself.

"Ah… erm… I'm s-"

"Please don't," the boy said loftily. "I already have a rather grand bloody bitch of a conscience gnawing at me as it is. I don't need you apologizing to me."

Harry was saved from having to respond by the appearance of Kreacher.

"Dinner is ready, Master, Mister Malfoy."

"Thanks, Kreacher."

Draco followed Harry into the dining room, sitting at the left of Harry's seat at the head of the table. Kreacher had set out onion soup for starters, and the boys helped themselves in silence for a few moments.

"Harry…?" Draco began.

"Yeah?"

"I've been wondering – what did you do the last year?"

Harry looked at him in shock. "What?" He'd thought the sight of Draco Malfoy reading Alice in Wonderland would be the most startling thing he would have to deal with that night.

"I mean, I know you were destroying the horcruxes. The whole wizarding world does," Draco clarified. "But where were you? How did you know where to find them?"

Harry pulled himself out of his shock with a shrug. "We didn't, truthfully. We spent a lot of the time in the house, trying to figure out what Dumbledore had wanted us to do. It didn't work very well, to tell you the truth. We tried to get into the Ministry, but that failed. A death eater followed us back to the house finally, and we had to abandon it."

Kreacher took away their empty soup bowls, replacing it with the main course; lamb with potatoes. Draco grinned widely at the food, and Harry smirked at him as he took a nice fat piece and a large spoon of potatoes. Well, he supposed the boy was emaciated and therefore entitled.

"The house?" Draco repeated once he'd finished off a few mouthfuls. "You mean _this_ house?"

Harry snorted. "I don't own any other houses, Draco."

"You mean you were right here under our ruddy noses the whole time?" Draco said disbelievingly. Harry gave him a withering look. He did not want to be reminded that the emaciated young man he was housing had, in fact, been a death eater. "We thought you'd just been here for the night or something. Then of course that bloody house elf came and attacked us…"

Harry raised his eyebrows. He hadn't heard this part. "Kreacher attacked you?"

Malfoy snorted back. "Him and all the blooming portraits. Of course, they were happy at first, what with all the purebloods rushing in. It didn't take too long for the raucous noise to start though."

Harry felt something warm expand in his chest knowing the house elf had done such a thing, even if it hadn't really been for him. "Thank you, Kreacher!" he called. There was an alarmed noise and a clang heard from the general direction of the kitchen, but nothing else followed.

"So, what happened after that?" Draco asked, shaking off the look of disgust that had inhabited his face while Harry had thanked the elf.

Harry shrugged. "We apparated around. It took us a while, but finally we managed to figure out where some of the horcruxes were. Thing is, we had a bit of trouble destroying them once we found the bloody things. Basilisk fangs and Gryffindor's sword seemed to do the trick though." He grinned. "You know the rest."

"But… you just apparated around?" Draco repeated. Harry snickered.

"A little hard of hearing there, Draco?"

The blond boy fell silent for a few moments, thinking. Harry watched as his face sobered. "Speaking of hearing… my mother said to thank you."

"What?" Harry asked, confused. Narcissa was in Azkaban, wasn't she?

"For testifying. At her hearing."

Harry flushed. "Oh, right. Yeah. Well… it was only right."

Draco smiled wistfully. "Yes, Gryffindor pride and all that nonsense." He stood up quickly, tossing aside his napkin. "Well, erm… tell Kreacher thanks for dinner."

Harry looked skeptically at him. "You're not going to wait for dessert?"

Draco stood for a moment, looking torn for a few seconds, before resolutely shaking his head. "No…" he said, sounding a little faint. "I'm… I'm stuffed."

Harry watched as the young man almost ran from the room and smiled wearily. Draco or Malfoy, it didn't matter on one count; both of them were cowards.

* * *

A flash of red hair disappeared around the corner. Harry ran after it, wand drawn, whole body strung high with tension. He was in a maze, chasing a ribbon of red as it disappeared into tunnels, through archways, around corners and over crumbled walls. He strained to see in the darkness.

"Ginny!" he called. There was a flash of red in the corner of his vision, and he ran after it, panting. "Ginny! Wait! Come back!"

The flash disappeared into a hole in the crumbling maze walls, and Harry felt anger boil up inside of him. "Bloody hell…" he growled. "Ginny!"

He ran for what seemed like an eternity, following that flash of red. He screamed until his throat hurt and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Panting heavily, he burst into a wide clearing where a girl sat on the edge of a water fountain, a curtain of red hair hiding her face from view.

"Ginny?" he croaked. The girl did not answer, but as he took a step forward Fenir Greyback and Lucius Malfoy burst into the clearing, wands raised.

"Ginny!" Harry screeched, his voice cracking from the strain. He waved his wand blindly, wordlessly cursing the Death Eaters, but his spells slid right through them as they grabbed the girl. She began to shriek. "Ginny!"

"Harry!" the girl screamed. The anger was bursting into fireworks behind his eyes now, his spells shattering the walls of the maze, the water fountain, everything but his targets and the girl, whose face was still obscured.

"Lucius, get off of her!" A derisive laugh was the only response as the man pulled out his wand and pointed it at the girl. "LET GO OF HER!"

Harry ran towards her, but the more he ran the farther away the fountain seemed to get…

* * *

Draco groaned and dragged the pillow over his head. He'd thought that Harry's now-famous tendency for having bad dreams would have passed with the death of his previous master, but he'd obviously been wrong. He growled angrily as Harry screamed the Weaslette's name again, then paused. He sounded like he was in real pain.

His conscience griped at him as he lay unmoving in bed, listening to the creak of Harry's bed as he thrashed wildly. He screamed again.

_You should help him. _

_Do what? It's just a dream._

_It's a nightmare, Malfoy._

_So? _Draco said to the voice angrily, not failing to note that the voice in his head had taken the form of a younger version of his black-haired host. Second Year Harry glared at him from behind his eyelids, and the Slytherin groaned loudly as he gave up on attempting to sleep.

"I'm going to bloody strangle him," he muttered, plodding softly out the door and across the hall to Harry's room. He knocked softly, not expecting an answer.

"Lucius!" came the scream from inside. Draco froze, his hand on the knob. His father was haunting Harry's dreams? "Get off of her!"

Draco paused as Mini-Harry yelled angrily in his head.

"LET GO OF HER!" Harry roared, and Draco jumped instinctively and consequently threw open the door.

The Boy Who Lived was tangled in his sheets, sweat-encased body glistening eerily in the pale moonlight cast by the spell-induced windows. His legs kicked aimlessly as if he was attempting to run, right hand gripping the comforter as if his life depended on it. Draco leaned over timidly and attempted to catch a hold of his shoulder, but Harry was moving too much.

"GINNY!" the boy shrieked, and Draco jumped about a foot. He wished he'd thought to take his mother's wand.

"Harry!" Draco called, his hand darting in among the flailing limbs and catching Harry's shoulder. The boy thrashed, pulling Draco into the bed with him, floundering appendages and all. Draco found himself socked in the gut, and grabbed Harry's other wrist, wrestling with the sleeping Gryffindor. He threw his weight as Harry paused for breath, twisting them both until he was straddling the other boy and pinning him to the bed. "Harry Potter, you bloody useless idiot! Wake up!"

The boy's eyes flew open in shock, and he blinked owlishly. They remained like that in silence for a few moments, both panting heavily. Draco's eyes moved unwillingly to the young man's bare chest, his mind flutteringly mentioning the apparent difference in looks that Harry had without his trademark glasses.

"Mraco?" he slurred tiredly after a few moments. He sounded bemused. "What…?"

"You were screaming like you'd bloody lost it, you stupid git. You expect me to sleep in that racket?" Draco demanded, his pale face flushing all the way down to his neck. Harry's eyes strayed for a moment as they followed the increasing amount of pink, then snapped back up to Draco's eyes.

"Erm… sorry about that…" Harry muttered. Draco relaxed a little.

"Yeah, well… not your fault you had a ruddy nightmare," Draco muttered. He was suddenly becoming increasingly aware that he was straddling a well-toned young man clad only in boxers. He wondered if he should move, but Harry made no move to buck him off. He decided to pretend he'd forgotten the awkwardness of their position. Or the possibilities, depending on how one took it…

He shook his head inwardly to clear it of such thoughts. "Do you… want to talk about it?" he asked grudgingly. Anything to keep him talking, keep his attention away from their position…

_Bloody hell, what's wrong with you? _the voice in his head asked amusedly. _Because he seems to be enjoying this situation as much as you are._

_Harry's attractive. That's not a crime._

_Yes it bloody well is! He's fucking straight!_

_You don't know that…_

_Actually, yeah, I do!_

_Well does Harry?_

Draco watched with interest as Harry's eyes surreptitiously skimmed over Draco's own bare chest. His trousers had slipped dangerously low during their tussle, and his hipbones jutted out and left a bit of a hollow between them while he was in this position; this left a few inches of skin untouched by the waistband but still covered, and Draco could imagine Harry behind him, sliding his hand through without even touching the fabric…

_Stop that!_ he told himself crossly.

_Why? _

_Because… because I can't be sprung on Harry Potter, that's why!_

_What's the harm in a little fun? Not to say you're sprung on him or-_

_Impossible!_

_Harry doesn't seem to think so._

There was a period of silence as their eyes met again, emerald clashing with green. Draco doubted very much that Harry had ever been in such close proximity with another bloke, and expected him to be highly confused at the moment. His mind spun madly, thinking of every possible way he could make this into one very… _interesting_ night…

Something in his stomach tightened, but not for the reasons he thought it would. Second Year Harry was yelling at him again.

_That's not the way to do it. _

_Why not?_

_Because Harry's probably never been with a bloke before!_

_So?_

_Not to mention it's particularly tactless to make a move on someone who just had a nightmare about your death eater father attacking the previous love of his life._

_…Ah._

_Yeah._

The Slytherin cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Harry flushed with embarrassment. Draco watched the blood rise to the surface of Harry's skin and slide over his neck…

_Stop. _

"Um… sorry," he said, getting off of him quickly. There was an awkward pause. "So… erm… you're alright, then?"

"Yeah, I think I've got it covered," Harry said.

There was another pause.

"Well… if you… you know, I'll just be in the other room."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, and Draco wished he could see his face better. He would have bet ten galleons that the boy was blushing. "Uhm, thanks."

Draco flushed, suddenly glad of the darkness. "Yeah," he muttered. "Well… G'nite then."

"Right."

Draco practically ran out of the room, slamming both doors behind him before falling into his bed.

"What in Merlin's name have I gotten myself into?"

**A/N: XD Draco is having problems… Maybe Harry has developed White Knight Syndrome after being forced to save the world… ^_^; Anywayy, review please!!!!!!**


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